


Petrichor

by outruntheavalanche



Series: Exchange Fic [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Community: rarepairsexchange, Dildos, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Reunion Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-08-14 03:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20185675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/pseuds/outruntheavalanche
Summary: The scent of rain lingers heavy in the air, thick and earthy and familiar. Rolling waves crash against the cliffside where he stands, overlooking what could have been his kingdom.





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sodium_amytal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/gifts).

> Written for sodium_amytal for rarepairsexchange.
> 
> Thanks to **G** for looking this over.

The scent of rain lingers heavy in the air, thick and earthy and familiar. Rolling waves crash against the cliffside where he stands, overlooking what could have been his kingdom. 

(What _should_ have—_would_ have—been his kingdom, had he not shirked the responsibility and passed it off to Brunnhilde to go gallivanting across the galaxy after the non-end of the world.

Or was it the un-end?

Whatever.)

Thor turns his face toward the wind and closes his eyes, letting it caress his skin. The light breeze, the lingering scent of petrichor, feels like a _welcome home_. 

“Wasn’t expecting to see you for a while yet,” comes a familiar voice from just behind him.

Thor turns and soon finds himself nearly bowled over by Brunnhilde as she launches herself into his arms.

“Your majesty!” Thor says, delightedly, stepping back to hold her at arm’s length. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Brunnhilde beams at him, pleased, and sweeps her deep red cape behind her. “It’s only been a month, your m—I mean, um… Thor. I would have expected your adventures with the Guardians to keep away far longer than that.”

Thor bears his teeth at her in a broad, happy grin. “I guess you could say I was homesick.” 

Brunnhilde coughs lightly, taking a step back, her hand slipping away from Thor’s arm. “Did you enjoy yourself, your maj—” Brunnhilde stops herself short, laughing and shaking her head. “Force of habit. I’m not sure what I should call you now.”

“Just Thor will suffice,” he says, bearing another grin. He holds a hand out to Brunnhilde in invitation. “Come, let’s catch up.”

Brunnhilde slips her hand into Thor’s, arching an eyebrow at him. “Catch up?” she asks, pointedly. 

“The kind of catching up that involves my couch and crappy beer,” Thor offers, squeezing her hand lightly. 

“The other kind of catching up involves your couch and crappy beer, if you recall,” she says, but she tightens her fingers around Thor’s. “Lead the way, Mr. Odinson?”

Thor laughs warmly, and a slow smile spreads across Brunnhilde’s face. But he still lets her lead them both back to his old stone hut. 

*** 

The place hasn’t changed much since the last time Thor was here. In fact, if anything, it seems a bit cleaner. Smells less stale, at any rate. 

Thor thumps the door shut behind them and makes a beeline to the couch, sinking into the soft cushions. Brunnhilde watches him from the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest—over an ornate, gleaming chestplate—before she reaches up and unclasps it from around her neck. She lets the chestplate fall to her feet, then she shrugs off her red cape and joins Thor on the couch.

“The last time we were in this position,” Brunnhilde teases him, curling her legs underneath her body, “we were considerably drunker. And nakeder.” 

Thor chuckles, letting a hand come to rest lightly on Brunnhilde’s knee. “Are you trying to get at something?” he asks, giving her a gentle, affectionate squeeze. 

Gods, how he’s missed her. Traveling with the Guardians had been what he needed at the time, after the defeat of Thanos, but this is where Thor belongs. In New Asgard, if not as king then as…

“Penny for your thoughts?” Brunnhilde reaches up and tugs playfully on his beard. 

“I think this is where I’m meant to be,” he says, shifting beside her until they’re facing one another. “In New Asgard.”

“Do you mean to fight me for the crown?” she asks, her voice light and almost airy, but Thor can hear the sizzle of lightning in her tone. 

If he were to challenge Brunnhilde for New Asgard, he’d have quite the fight on his hands. He doesn’t want to fight her for it, anyway. When he’d metaphorically passed the crown to her, he intended for her to keep it. 

“Have you a queen?” Thor asks, flicking his eyes away from Brunnhilde's. “Or a consort?” 

Brunnhilde tilts her head at him, her braid falling over her bare shoulder. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m ready to settle down, I think,” Thor says, drumming his fingers over Brunnhilde’s knee. “If you were in need of a consort…”

“You’re offering yourself to me as my—” she pauses, puzzling over what she should call him. She'd never really thought much about the terminology before. She settles on: “Consort?”

“Yes, I am, your majesty,” Thor says, very seriously. 

Brunnhilde uncurls her legs out from under her and gets up off the couch. When Thor starts to get up after her, she puts a hand out and gives him a quick shake of the head.

“We’d better do this properly or we shouldn’t do it at all,” she says, getting down on one knee in front of Thor. “Thor Odinson, son of Odin the All-Father and wise Queen Frigga—”

“Is all this pomp and circumstance really necessary?” Thor interjects, grinning down at her. “You don’t even have a ring.”

Brunnhilde casts about before her eyes land on a beer koozie on the coffee table. She grabs it, snags Thor by the wrist, and slips it over his hand. 

“There,” she says, getting back to her feet. “It’s official. We’re engaged.”

“You didn’t even ask properly,” Thor mock-complains, standing up and slipping an arm around her waist. 

“Would you have said no?” Brunnhilde asks, rubbing her hand over his chest in slow circles. 

“Well,” Thor allows, “you have a point.” 

“Let’s celebrate.” Brunnhilde grabs his hand and pulls him off in the direction of the bedroom.

The two of them tumble into Thor’s little-used bed, giggling, hands roaming. Brunnhilde tugs at Thor’s leather vest, unlacing the stays with steady fingers before shoving it off his shoulders. She pauses a moment to drink him in, eyes raking over him, making him feel almost self-conscious. Thor’s never been ashamed or shy about his body, but Brunnhilde staring at him like she wants to devour him whole makes him _feel_ things. 

“Now, your turn,” Thor rasps, taking her gently by the arm and slipping one of her metal cuffs off her wrist. He moves onto the next one, letting both cuffs drop in a pile next to them. 

Thor runs an appreciative hand over her arm, savoring the goosebumps that prickle her warm skin. 

Brunnhilde watches him for a moment before clearing her throat. “Forgetting something?”

“No, what?” he asks, stroking his fingertips down the underside of her arm, slowly, before dragging them back up. 

“The rest of my clothes,” she points out, with a laugh. 

“Apologies, your majesty,” Thor quips. 

Thor grips her lightly by the shoulders and pushes her back against the mattress, rolling on top of her and squeezing her hips between his thighs. He undoes the laces of her vest, then moves to her leather breeches, yanking them down her hips. 

Brunnhilde stares up at him, her dark eyes brimming over with naked affection. 

“It’s been too long,” she says, her voice swimming with an emotion that makes Thor’s heart tighten in his chest.

“Far too long,” he agrees, leaning down to kiss her full lips softly. 

One of Brunnhilde’s hands snakes up into his hair, fingers twining loosely. Thor keeps pressing gentle kisses against her lips as he reaches down to open his pants and slide them off his hips in one go. 

He fails but Brunnhilde doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she doesn’t even seem to notice.

Thor crawls back over her, but Brunnhilde presses a palm against his chest and he goes still.

“Wait,” she says.

“What is it?” Thor sits back on his heels. 

“We did that the last time,” she says, sitting up and flipping her braid off her shoulder. Her eyes drop pointedly to Thor’s cock, hanging half-hard between his thighs. “I think it’s my turn now.”

Thor’s cheeks flood with heat. “Do you, majesty?” 

Brunnhilde smirks. “Retrieve my sword for me, my love,” she demands, imperiously. 

Thor practically scrambles out of bed, socked feet sliding on the sleek stone floor, before he skids to a stop in front of Brunnhilde’s overnight bag. Thor unzips the bag and dives in, digging out her ‘sword’—an unnaturally long, flesh-colored silicone dildo—and some lube. When he rejoins Brunnhilde in bed, she takes the dildo and lube from him and rewards him with a kiss to the cheek. 

“Get on your back,” Brunnhilde says, as she rubs the bottle of lube in her hands.

Thor rolls onto his back and watches as she flips the bottle from hand to hand. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she tells him, as she scoots closer. “Got to be a bit of a bore just pleasing myself.”

“You missed me?” Thor grins up at her. 

Brunnhilde laughs; it’s a pleasant, rich, honeyed sound. “Of course I did,” she says, setting the bottle on the mattress next to her. “Did you miss me?” 

“Only every day,” Thor says.

Brunnhilde retrieves the dildo and slaps it into the center of her palm. “Have you been a good boy?” she teases. 

“Very,” Thor says.

Brunnhilde grabs the bottle and pops the cap, squeezing a dollop of it onto the head of the silicone dildo. She smears it down the shaft, her heated gaze meeting Thor’s as she does so. 

“Spread your legs for me, love,” Brunnhilde murmurs. 

Thor does as she says, spreading his legs. Brunnhilde fits herself between his heavy, pale thighs and runs a hand over his flank.

It’s been a difficult last few years for Thor. He’s still not entirely comfortable in his own skin, though none of his lovers have ever seemed to mind. Especially not Brunnhilde. She still looks at him like he’s a prize. Someone worth being with. 

Being with Brunnhilde makes Thor feel very seen. He can’t hide parts of himself from her. She’ll seek them out like a dog on a bone. 

He can’t help but flinch when he feels her cool fingers, slick with lube, pressing against him. Brunnhilde murmurs at him, soothingly, and rubs his thigh some more. 

“You okay?” she asks. 

“Perfectly okay, my queen,” Thor says, giving her a thumbs up. 

Brunnhilde laughs, delightedly. “Good to know.” She presses her finger a little deeper, before drawing it back out only to slowly push it back in. “It really _has _been too long. You’re so tight. If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess this was your first time.”

Thor scoffs. “Not hardly.”

Brunnhilde says nothing, just slides a second finger in with the other one. 

It had taken Thor a bit longer than he’d expected to get into the flow of things the first time they did this. Thor had never been insecure about his sexuality or opposed to doing what Brunnhilde delicately termed 'butt stuff.' But once they really got going, Thor had taken to it. 

His mind drifts back to the last time they they’d partaken of each other. It hadn’t been a good visit. Thor got ragingly drunk, as per usual, and Brunnhilde had dumped him off on the couch. He woke up later to find her sitting next to him, just staring at him, an odd expression on her face.

Thor had asked her what was on her mind. She’d just kissed him hard, like she knew even before he did that he was going to leave. 

And now, Thor is back. Now, Thor doesn’t intend on leaving New Asgard without Brunnhilde by his side. 

Brunnhilde slides her fingers into Thor, deeply, her other hand still rubbing at his hip. “Good?” 

“Mm, very, your majesty.” Thor hums lazily.

Brunnhilde works her fingers in and out of Thor, slowly, pausing every now and then to drip a little more lube onto his ass. 

“Ready for me?” Brunnhilde sing-songs at him.

“I’m always ready for you.” Thor grins up at her.

Brunnhilde slips back between Thor’s thighs and positions the dildo between her own legs. Thor feels the flared head pressing against him and he bites down hard on his bottom lip. Brunnhilde rubs his thigh some more as she eases the toy into him before pulling it back out.

“You’re doing so well,” she says, sounding proud.

Thor grunts his appreciation, unable to make words any longer. 

It’s easy to lose himself in the sensations and feelings, to let the weight of the last half-decade slough off like dead skin. It’s been hard for him to shake off the doubt and self-recrimination, as much as he’s tried. But when he’s with Brunnhilde, it’s easy. When he’s with Brunnhilde, he remembers what it’s like to live for each day.

Thor pops his eyes open and stares up at her as she moves over him, gently thrusting the dildo. Her braid sways in front of her face and Thor reaches up, pushing it back over her shoulder.

Her skin is lightly misted in a sheen of sweat, and she’s glowing, every inch the warrior.

_His_ warrior.

Thor’s heart feels like it’s going to burst. Brunnhilde angles the toy, jabbing it into a sensitive spot deep inside him. Thor jerks against her and arches off the mattress, fingers tightening in the bedsheets. 

He thinks he could do this, every day, for the rest of his life. 

Thor gets to do this, every day, for the rest of his life.

Brunnhilde wraps her free hand loosely around Thor’s cock, fingers sliding down his length. Thor reaches for her, wrapping a hand loosely over hers, stroking with her, in sync. As always. 

It’s not long before Thor’s arching off the mattress again, squeezing around the toy. Brunnhilde stops thrusting and leans in, claiming Thor’s mouth with her own. She slips her hand away from Thor’s spent cock to reach between her own legs. Thor guides her back and lets his hand wander down her chest, skim across her stomach to join her. While Brunnhilde circles her fingers over the slick, swollen bud of her clit, Thor plunges two thick fingers into her center, causing Brunnhilde to buck her hips up off the mattress. When he draws his fingers away from her, teasingly, she chases after him and he pities her. He leans down, presses a kiss against the knob of her hipbone, and thrusts his fingers as deep as he can, over and over.

Brunnhilde rises against him, sighing out his name like a prayer. It doesn't take her long at all to join him, their fingers laced tightly as she bucks against their hands. When she's spent and exhausted, Brunnhilde collapses limply against Thor's chest. He clasps an arm around her and holds her tight, pressing light kisses against her damp hair. Brunnhilde stirs slightly, murmuring, but she doesn't open her eyes. She settles against Thor's chest, nestling against him. 

Thor kisses her forehead and gently lays her out on the mattress, lying down next to her. He drops his head on the pillow and feels himself drifting off, when Brunnhilde laces her fingers with Thor's and squeezes tightly. 

“I'm gross,” she announces, drowsily. "And sticky. But I think a shower can wait. Just a little bit.”  


Thor grins and curls around Brunnhilde, pressing his smile into the back of her neck. “Just give me twenty minutes,” Thor rumbles against her skin.

Brunnhilde slaps him lightly on the arm. “I meant an actual shower, not shower sex,” she scolds teasingly. 

“So did I,” Thor lies.   


“Liar,” Brunnhilde snorts. 

Thor laughs. “You know me so well, majesty.”

Brunnhilde pulls Thor's arm securely around her waist. “You're lucky I love you.”

”Indeed I am,” Thor agrees.

Very lucky, indeed. 

**Author's Note:**

> **pet·ri·chor**  
/ˈpeˌtrīkôr/
> 
> _noun_  
a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.


End file.
